Bletchley
by UltimateGryffindork
Summary: It's 1939, and Alistair Turner has begun work at Bletchley Park, the centre of British intelligence. His new routine, though, is interrupted when he meets Danny Holt, a shopkeeper in the town. A Bletchley Park AU.
1. 1939

**Hello everyone! I've had this idea ticking over for a while and originally it was just going to be a fairly short oneshot, but it kept getting longer. So here is part 1 of 2 (probably)!**

 **Thank you to themuller13 on tumblr for the wonderful cover image.**

 **Enjoy!**

Alistair Turner liked his routines.

Some were idiosyncratic, he knew that; having a different pair of socks that he had to wear on each day of the week, or how he never drank more than half a cup of tea. Others were simply the way he lived his life. He would get up at the same time every day, go for a short run, then come back to his lodgings and wash before getting ready for work. Eight hours later he'd come back from work and spend an hour on his own research before dinner, and an hour reading after, before going to bed and doing the whole thing all over again.

Unfortunately for him, wartime did not follow a routine. Work could be interrupted by drills, shifts or staffing were constantly changing; even the food available changed from week to week.

So he clung to the things that he could control. Everything he owned had its own place in his small room, his desk was always perfectly organised, his filing system flawless. At least here, at Bletchley, he wasn't the odd one anymore; he was just one more face in a sea of eccentrics. He didn't have friends, as such, only colleagues, but he didn't mind that. Friends meant new people and new situations which he always shied away from. He was happier that way; one less thing to worry about, one less change to his carefully-kept routine.

* * *

Since the outbreak of the war day-to-day life had been altered all over the country but nowhere, Danny Holt supposed, as much as in Bletchley. There were no new factories, and virtually no threat of bombs or attacks, but something about the quiet village had just… shifted. Every room was suddenly let to hundreds of Wrens and countless young men, all well-spoken and intelligent with slightly ill-fitting suits. There was a buzz in the town that hadn't been there before. Everyone knew something was going on at the old house, tucked away just outside the village, something secret and exciting and probably dangerous, but no one spoke of it. Overnight, all of the gossip had ended. It was very unnerving for Danny, who liked to keep track of gossip; in his experience, it was often about him, and he'd rather have at least some idea about what people were saying.

Suddenly customers in the shop were afraid to make small talk, looking nervously at the newcomers who shared stories of Oxford or Cambridge, turned straight to the cryptic crosswords in the newspapers, spoke in accents and languages that he hadn't even known existed. Academics and debutantes were strangers to the people of Bletchley, and could have been from a completely different world. But it somehow worked; they stayed in their world, and the townspeople stayed in theirs. Occasionally there were plans for football at the weekend, and friendships would be struck up with lodgers, but on the whole they didn't mix. It worked well for everyone, and best of all for Danny. He'd come here to get away from the people in charge, not to mingle with them. He had a life here now, or something resembling one, and he didn't want to have to leave that behind. Working at his friend Scottie's shop wasn't much, but it was something – and at least he _had_ a friend, and one who understood him better than most. It wasn't an exciting life, not at all, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

Life at Bletchley was a world away from London or Oxford. Part of that, Alex wondered, must surely be the shadow of war, but there was still a different pace of life here in a little town that no one's heard of. There was something strangely compelling about the place, this tiny community that had just accepted countless newcomers from all walks of life, no questions asked.

It hadn't taken him long to decide on his running route in the morning. There was a track at the Park that was used by most of his colleagues, but he preferred to run through the town. There was no race, no competition, and he was able to soak up the atmosphere of a sleepy English town slowly waking up. After the first few days he started to recognise people; the milkman, the postman, the shopkeeper, the tired mother getting up early to cook breakfast. Some of them would wave or smile at him as he ran past, and he'd give a nod in return; two people, passing each day in their routines. The vicar would greet him with a "Good morning, Mr Turner" – he'd made a point of learning the names of everyone who had arrived since the war broke out, regardless of faith or background, and Alex knew that it was appreciated.

He never spoke to any of the people he saw on his morning runs, and that was fine; they each had their own things to get on with, their own jobs to do, but it was oddly calming to know that their routines coincided each day. He never stopped for anyone, and they never stopped for him; it was a good arrangement.

One morning, almost a month (twenty-seven days, Alex's brain supplied) after he'd started at Bletchley, the weather was dull and drizzly, as if it couldn't quite summon the effort to rain properly. It didn't bother Alex; he would go out until there was ice on the ground. The weather didn't affect anyone else's routines, either; the postman still tipped his hat, the young mother still encouraged her youngest to give a little wave as he ran past, the vicar still called "Good morning, Mr Turner!".

He started slightly as he approached the corner shop; rather than the older man who usually smiled wryly while opening up, there was a young man carrying in the day's stock. The man had unkempt dark hair, and Alex saw as the man turned that he had a boyish smile underneath blue eyes. For a second, Alex was transfixed; there was something in the man's eyes that he couldn't tear himself away from – a whimsical spark that failed to hide the lingering sadness. There was a deep-set loneliness in this man, and for a brief moment Alex felt a connection, as if they understood each other on an unseen level.

Alex wanted more than anything to stop, to greet the man, to know him, but he didn't even know how to start such a conversation, or if it would even be welcome. Just as he resigned himself to simply having another face to smile and wave at him the man stumbled, the boxes in his hands crashing to the ground.

Being a completely rational man, Alex didn't believe in fate, didn't believe in things happening for a reason. Coincidences, though? They happened all the time, every single day. A coincidence was what you made of it, he knew that, and even the best planning couldn't account for the statistical improbability of everyday life.

Before he'd even thought about it, he stopped running, and realised that he was standing by the young man, picking up the boxes that he'd dropped.

"May I help?"

The man looked up, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been expecting the offer.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the man answered quickly, picking up the last of the boxes. "But thank you."

Alex didn't say anything.

"Really, I'm fine; it's just an old injury, that's all." Alex realised that the man had taken his silence for disbelief. "Sometimes plays up, but I'm fine."

There was a strange tension between them, something that Alex couldn't put his finger on, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the other man's.

"Are you sure?" he asked. He didn't want to leave, not yet.

The other man smiled, and Alex thought he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life. "Yes, really! I'm – I'm Danny, by the way." He shifted the boxes onto one arm, holding out his hand.

After a second, looking at the outstretched hand almost warily, Alex shook it. "Alex." He wasn't sure what it was about this man but Alex didn't want Danny to know Alistair Turner, mathematician and intellect; he wanted him to know _Alex_.

Too late, he realised that he'd been holding on to Danny's hand for far too long, that he had stood staring for longer than he should have, and he quickly took his hand back. Panicking, he tore his eyes away from Danny's and picked up the run once more, not looking back.

Danny called after him, "Wait, I -" but he ran round the corner before Danny could finish, hating himself for it.

Alex couldn't think of anything but Danny all day. He sat at his desk, staring at the strings of numbers and letters that usually made more sense to him than anything else, but today were just meaningless symbols. He couldn't help but wonder about Danny; who he was, who he had been. His accent had been unmistakeably London, unusual here even though they weren't very far from the city. After all, young people tended to move from the country to the city to seek their fortune, not the other way round. There was a story there and he wanted more than anything to know it, but it was more than that. Somehow, in those few moments, Danny had seen him, really seen _him_ and not just his intellect or his reserve. Many of the people he worked with might have said that that was a bad thing, that he shouldn't waste his time on someone who didn't understand quite how incredible his mind really was, and perhaps a few days ago, even a few hours ago, he might have said the same thing, but not anymore. After all, wasn't it better to be understood than to be awed?

Briefly he considered changing his running route the following morning; maybe if he just didn't see Danny again, he would be able to put him from his mind, forget it ever happened. He quickly dismissed that idea, though; apart from anything else, this town was too small to ever really guarantee not seeing someone more than once. If the way he tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking only of Danny's face when he shut his eyes, was anything to go by, then putting it out of his mind was going to be much easier said than done. No, he had to see Danny again; if only to put his mind at rest.

He half hoped, as he ran by the shop again the following morning, that it would be the shopkeeper – Scottie, he remembered – collecting the stock and opening up so that he could run past, assuring himself that it was not his fault that he hadn't been able to catch Danny. Even so, he breathed a sigh of relief as he turned the corner to find Danny standing there, boxes of stock in hand, his eyes searching before settling on Alex.

He had been waiting.

"Hello," Danny said, shifting from one leg to the other nervously; Alex noticed that he seemed to favour the left, remembering Danny's comment the previous day about an old injury. Danny opened his mouth to speak again but paused; he clearly hadn't planned what he was going to say past 'Hello'.

"Good morning," Alex replied, coming to a stop in front of Danny. "Are you… how are you doing, today? With the, er, with those boxes?"

"Yes, thank you." They stood, watching each other. Danny's eyes searched Alex's face, as if looking for some sort of cue. His face fell; he hadn't found what he was looking for. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I… I got this wrong. It was nice to meet you, Alex."

He turned to go into the shop, and Alex's hand shot out to stop him. "Wait," he said, a strange panic filling his chest. He couldn't let Danny walk away now, not without at least a conversation. "I – it's my day off," he stammered. "Would you like a hand? Not because you need the help, I just…"

He trailed off, and Danny gave him a strange look, clearly assessing him. "Alright," he said eventually, and he smiled again. "Come on in; we don't open today, but I need to do the inventory."

Alex slipped into the shop behind Danny, jumping as the bell rang above the door. He'd only been in here once before; anything he'd needed had been bought for him by his landlady. It was odd seeing it shut like this, the newspapers not out and the cupboards locked shut.

Danny set the boxes down on the counter. "Scottie is usually in charge here," he explained, more for something to say than anything else. "He's my friend. I just help where I can, but he's visiting his sister at the moment so… yeah." He lit a cigarette, his right hand trembling slightly. "Want one?"

"I don't smoke."

"Oh."

They stood in silence for a few more moments, neither of them sure what to say. Danny gazed intensely at Alex as he smoked, a strange intensity in his eyes.

"So," he started, "You work up at the big house?"

Alex wasn't sure what to say that, so he simply nodded.

"I bet that's all you're allowed to say, right?"

Twitching slightly, Alex looked at Danny with trepidation. "I -"

"I bet I've said too much already," Danny said, giving a genuine smile. "War time and all that. I guess the only thing that's not a secret is how secretive you all are?"

He turned to the boxes that he'd stacked on the counter, excusing Alex from answering. It was clear that that portion of their conversation was over, and honestly Alex couldn't really complain. Even if he'd been able to, he wouldn't have wanted to tell Danny what really happened up at the Park, or even that he worked in a little tin hut in the grounds of the grand and eccentric house. It was selfish, he knew, but he wanted to keep Danny all to himself; something that was only his, and not part of some big secretive organisation. Perhaps more than that, he wanted to protect Danny from his world. It was clear that Danny had a lot of secrets, and a very complicated and probably unpleasant past, but he had an innocence that Alex didn't see very often. Maybe it was the strange optimism, or maybe it was his more sheltered life: he didn't spend every working hour reading battle commands and death tolls that arrived on his desk. He had no idea of the horrors that were happening on the continent, and if Alex could have his way? He never would.

Slowly, Alex approached the counter, where Danny was starting to unpack the day's newspapers. He stood almost uncomfortably close to him, taking the top box from the pile. "Shall I unpack these?"

Danny smiled again. "If you want – just ask if you're not sure where anything goes."

They worked in relative silence; it seemed that Danny, like Alex, wasn't one to begin mundane conversations about things like the weather. Occasionally Alex would ask where something went, or Danny would tell an anecdote about working in the shop. There was an understanding between them, a companionship. Something about Danny, the cheerful way that he went about his work and the hidden depths in his eyes intrigued Alex. He was drawn to it with some strange magnetism, he wanted to stay in Danny's presence for as long as he could. Somehow he felt like Danny, for all his wide-eyed innocence, saw right through him, saw through the façade that he presented to the world. And Danny, for his part, wore his heart on his sleeve; a few minutes of conversation was enough to tell Alex that.

He stayed with Danny until the shop opened, leaving reluctantly as the first few customers trickled in. Turning back in the doorway, he watched Danny for a few moments as he worked, taking care to memorise every feature of Danny's face. He didn't think he could live with himself if he forgot a single detail.

And so Alex had a new routine; he would go for a run every morning, pausing outside the shop to see Danny, before finishing his run, going home to change and going to work. He didn't know how it had happened but his work had suddenly become the second-best part of his day; the inevitable satisfaction at the end of pages of calculations paled in comparison to seeing Danny's face light up in a smile as he turned the corner.

It was becoming harder and harder to focus on his work, and despite usually keeping to himself, people were starting to notice. His supervisor made the occasional comment that he was spending longer than usual on his work, and the others in his hut had given up all hope on starting a conversation with him in their breaks. Any half-baked ideas that he presented were met with rolled eyes, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Numbers were reliable. They would still be there later, always waiting to be solved, but Danny? Danny was a new puzzle, one that Alex knew that he had a limited time to solve.

"Mr Turner? Mr Turner?"

Alex jerked up from where he was staring at his paper, his mind playing images of Danny's face, his slim form, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It was a Saturday – he'd been planning what he was going to say to Danny tomorrow morning, on his day off.

"Mr Turner?"

He looked up. A young Wren was standing there expectantly, uniform as pristine as always, a bundle of memos in her hands.

"These are for you," she said, placing the memos on his desk.

"Thank you." The words felt awkward in his mouth. He recognised her as one of the girls assigned to bringing messages to this hut, realising with a jolt that he didn't know her name weeks after meeting. "Thank you, Miss…"

"Molly Wright," she supplied, and he knew by her face that this wasn't the first time he'd asked this.

For a second, Danny's face, friendly and smiling, filled his thoughts; the way that Danny made an effort with _everyone_ , knew the names of everyone who came into the shop. "Thank you, Miss Wright. You can… you can call me Alistair, if you wish."

She nodded courteously. "And you can call me Molly." There was a beat of silence; it was clear that she wanted to ask him something. "Who… who's the lady, then?"

"What?" Confusion was written across his face; what was she talking about?

Smiling knowingly, she elaborated. "I know that look, Mr Turner… Alistair. I have three brothers, and they're much more obvious than they like to think! You were thinking about a young lady, weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't," Alex intoned, frozen. "Thank you for the memos, Miss Wright."

She walked away, still giving him a look filled with significance. Alex felt the blood flush to his face.

He'd known since he was in school that he wasn't interested in women in the same way that his peers were, and that he thought about men in a way that he shouldn't, but he'd pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind years ago. Of course he'd come across men like him at university, but they seemed to occupy a world apart from his own - a world filled with sex and drinking and excitement. But Danny wasn't like that.

Or at least, the Danny _he_ knew wasn't like that.

For the rest of the day, he couldn't keep his mind off what the Wren (Molly, he thought) had said. He was never one to lie to himself; it didn't cause him much grief, realising that his interest in Danny went beyond friendship. It was the what-to-do-next that was causing him trouble.

Lunchtime came and he sat in his usual spot in the cafeteria, away from anyone else. Typically he would spend this time working on a puzzle or reading, but this time he watched the people around him. It was as if his eyes had been opened to a whole other world; the world of _sex_. Wherever he looked, there were people flirting, people kissing and holding hands, people in love. Groups of girls sat and giggled as they admired the young men on the next table over, or couples sat close together, whispering into each other's ears. He spotted two girls exchanging shy looks, their feet brushing against each other under the table, their friends oblivious – or maybe just pretending to be. His eyes drifted to where a group of young men were sitting in one corner, laughing and talking; one of them, he thought his name was Alan, was very open about his persuasion; more open, Alex thought, than anyone with a shred of self-preservation should be. And yet he was accepted, as part of the group as anyone could be when you were a group of academics from across the country thrown together by war.

Running through every interaction he and Danny had had in his mind, Alex desperately searched for some clue, some hint that Danny was like him, but he didn't trust his own judgement enough to rely on it. He wasn't good at reading people, he knew that, so every time he thought of the tiniest piece of evidence he discarded it, knowing that it could just as easily have been made up in his head. There was nothing for it – he would have to ask Danny.

If he'd thought himself distracted before, it was nothing compared to that afternoon. His thoughts were still filled with Danny but something had changed, something had shifted. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to touch Danny; to hold his hand, to kiss him. He thought of what it would be to be loved by Danny Holt.

If anything, the thought was too marvellous.

By the following morning, he'd made a plan; he would go on his run, as usual, and talk to Danny, as usual. Only this time, he would find out for sure what was between them. He hoped more than anything that he was right, that Danny would feel the same way about him despite the odds. He would have to be subtle. The last thing he wanted was to scare Danny off or get in some kind of trouble; after all, a friendship with Danny was better than nothing.

He purposely left earlier than usual to allow more time, arriving at the shop before Danny was outside. Knocking tentatively on the door, he stood stock still, hoping that he was appearing calm.

"Hello!" Danny smiled as he opened the door. "You're earlier than usual today." The tone was one of pleasant surprise.

"Yes." Alex's voice was as clipped and as placed as usual. It hadn't occurred to him until now that Danny might want some sort of explanation. "May I come in?"

"Of course you can!" Stepping aside, Danny let him into the shop before resting a hand on Alex's arm. "Just give me two minutes, I need to shave quickly. I'll be down soon, though?"

Alex only nodded, frozen under Danny's touch. Not for the first time, he was grateful that Danny never expected anything more from him.

As he stood there in the shop while Danny was upstairs, he started to run scenarios through his head, beginning to panic. What if he asked a question and Danny just didn't understand? Or worse – what if, when Danny realised that he, Alex, was homosexual, he turned on him? Didn't want to be his friend anymore, rejected him, refused to speak to him? Reported him?

No. He couldn't let that happen. His strange, budding new friendship with Danny had quickly become the most important thing in his life, the part of his day that he looked forwards to the most, and he couldn't jeopardise that. The risks far outweighed the chance of anything positive coming out of this conversation; he wouldn't say anything.

(If only, he thought, there was a way to tell exactly what people were thinking, when they were lying, when they were telling the truth. He briefly wondered if maybe mathematics could help – it usually could.)

He flinched slightly as Danny came back downstairs into the shop, taking in Alex's face of alarm.

"You alright?" he asked, clearly concerned.

Alex nodded once more. "Yes." He hated how even the simplest of words sounded forced and stilted when he said them.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Danny spoke again, not meeting Alex's eyes. "So, I was wondering, and I know, I know that this is – is a personal question, but…" His eyes snapped to meet Alex's, and Alex forgot how to breathe. "I just wondered if you, if you had a girlfriend?"

Oh.

"No," Alex said, surprising himself with his confidence. "No, I…" He took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't coming to the wrong conclusion. "Women aren't really my… area."

He couldn't tear himself away from Danny's gaze as something significant shifted between them.

A smile broke out on Danny's face. "Mine neither," he breathed, almost laughing. Alex jumped as he felt something against his hand. His eyes darted downwards; Danny's fingers were brushing against his own. He froze at the sight of their hands together, somehow better than he'd ever imagined it could be, twitching his fingers just enough to invite Danny to take his hand.

Neither of them could have said how long they stood there, looking down at their intertwined fingers as if it were something out of a dream. Alex's breath was caught in his chest. There was something wonderfully surreal about it.

After what felt like hours but was really only seconds, Danny broke the silence.

"Would you…" He was whispering as if afraid that they would be overheard, as if speaking too loud might break the spell. "Would you like to come round tonight? Spend the – spend the night? And neither of us are working tomorrow, so we could maybe – maybe spend the day together?"

Alex wasn't naïve enough that he didn't know what Danny was asking. The thought of doing… _that_ , of being physically intimate with someone, wasn't one that he'd often entertained; if anything, he'd shied away from it. But Danny…

Danny was different.

"I would like that."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. For the first few hours of the day Alex's colleagues were constantly checking on him, asking him if he was alright, but there were only so many times that he could brush them off unconvincingly before they gave up.

He couldn't stop thinking about Danny, about what they would be doing that night. He knew the mechanics of it, of course, but for the first time in his life knowledge wasn't really a comfort. After all, who would do what? What would it feel like? If Danny had done this before – and Alex suspected that he had – would he expect Alex to know what he was doing? Would it… would it feel _good_? For both of them? What if he wasn't good enough? What then?

Trying desperately to distract himself with the encoded messages in front of him, he couldn't rid himself of the thoughts and images that were whirling around his mind. If he were to give, would Danny expect him to know what to do? What if he somehow did it wrong, what if he made a mistake, what then? But what if he were to receive? Would it hurt? Would it still feel… nice?

But in between the questions that were bouncing around in his head, he couldn't help but think about what it would be like; what it would _really_ be like. To be that close to Danny, wrapped in his arms, pressed against his body. To feel that connection, that pleasure; to bring Danny that pleasure. He hadn't realised how much he wanted it until now, until the reality of it was right in front of him.

As soon as he was able to he packed up and went home, ignoring the weekly invitation to join his colleagues in the pub. He all but ran back to his lodgings, barely greeting his landlady as he rushed upstairs, hunting for his nicest shirt and tie. Quickly changing, he combed his hair, washed the ink stains off his hands, and looked in the mirror.

He felt nervous, filled with an unfamiliar anticipation. All of his doubts and fears that had been whirling around his head came flooding back in full force, drowning out all of his other thoughts. Half of him couldn't help but feel that this was too soon; after all, they'd only really known each other for a matter of days. Wasn't it all moving a little fast? But the other, much louder side of his brain was reminding him that this was what he _wanted_ ; that he wanted this more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time.

Taking a deep breath, trying desperately to cover up his anxiety, he went to Danny's.

* * *

"Hello, Alex."

Silence.

"Would you… like to come up?"

He didn't trust himself to say anything, didn't think his voice would work if he tried. Instead he gave a fraction of a nod, barely breathing.

Danny's room was dark and small, and felt even smaller for their proximity to each other. He could feel Danny's breath, heavy with anticipation, could smell that scent that was uniquely _him_. This was it, this was the moment.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Danny took his hand. Alex felt his heart leap in his chest, unable to look away from their joined hands. It was both thrilling and, he thought, perhaps slightly depressing that this was the closest he'd ever been to another person – what would Danny think if he knew?! If he knew just quite how many firsts for Alex he would be crossing off in one evening? If he did know… would he stay?

He jumped, caught off-guard, when he felt Danny's hand on his cheek. Whipping his head back up, his eyes met Danny's, full of care and affection, and he wanted in that moment to give Danny everything he had but he didn't even know how to start and –

Danny was kissing him.

For a few seconds he stood there, frozen, terrified but not wanting the feeling of Danny's lips on his to stop but not knowing what to do, just standing there as Danny's lips slowly moved against his.

Clearly picking up on his apprehension, Danny pulled away. Despite himself, Alex followed him, his head moving forwards ever so slightly, not ready to let Danny go just yet.

"Is this okay?" Danny asked quietly, clearly concerned. Nodding, his throat still feeling too tight to speak, Alex stiffly brought his other hand up to touch Danny's cheek, attempting to imitate Danny's own actions. Moving forwards, millimetre by millimetre, his lips met Danny's once more. This time was somehow different, now that an understanding had been reached between them, giving in to their mutual attraction. Alex shifted as Danny's hand moved to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He felt overwhelmed, his senses overloaded; Danny's touch, his scent, his taste. It was as if he was drowning, and holding onto Danny was the only thing keeping him afloat, keeping him present, keeping him safe. Their kiss was quickly becoming stronger, more passionate, Danny's hands deftly untucking his shirt, loosening his tie, undoing the buttons, running down his chest. As his shirt hit the floor he started attempting to unbutton Danny's own shirt, desperate to be closer, to see and feel more of Danny, but his hands were shaking; with nerves or arousal, he wasn't sure. Danny's hands fumbled with his, throwing his shirt to the ground before wrapping his arms tight around Alex's waist, pulling him ever closer so they were pressed chest to chest as they kissed. Alex felt as if his skin was on fire, Danny's touch scorching him, leaving a blazing trail.

"You're so," Danny panted in between fierce kisses, "So beautiful, God, you're so beautiful."

It caught him by surprise, bringing reality a little bit closer; no one had ever called him beautiful before. Danny must have felt him tense up slightly because he ran his hands down Alex's back, teasing at the edge of the waist of his trousers, tucking his fingers just below the fabric. Hyperaware of every movement Danny was making, Alex tilted his head up as Danny started kissing along his jawline, down his neck, pausing to suck and nip at the point where his neck met his shoulder. He hadn't expected it to feel so… much; they weren't even undressed yet and already it was so much more than he could ever have thought. He could stay here for hours, exactly like this, far closer to Danny than he had even imagined with anyone else.

The air around them felt hot and charged. As Danny's hands started slowly moving further down the back of Alex's trousers, it suddenly dawned on Alex that this was just the beginning. They wouldn't be spending all night standing there, kissing; there was more to do, more that Danny would want to do. He wasn't sure about this. Surely it had already been made painfully obvious that he had no idea what he was doing, and Danny seemed okay with that, but what if it went wrong later? What if one of them got hurt? They weren't supposed to do this, not at all, and he was risking everything just _being_ here, and Danny was so, so close and he didn't think he could bear it if they were any closer because Danny was everywhere, in every corner of his head and there was no logic or reason and it was getting worse and worse and more and more and it was _too much_ it had to stop when –

He felt something unfamiliar, something hot and heavy, and Danny's hand was _there_.

Leaping back, pushing Danny away, he collided with the bedroom wall behind him, his head hitting it with a sickening crack. Eyes wide, panting heavily, he slid down the wall slowly, until he was curled up, clutching his knees to his chest. He tucked his head in, ashamed; he couldn't bear to see Danny's anger.

"Alex?"

He shook his head.

"Alex, are, are you okay?"

He couldn't move.

"I'm sorry, I pushed you too far, I just want to know that you're okay."

Nothing.

"Alex?"

He could hear Danny slowly walking towards him, as if not wanting to frighten him.

"Please, talk to me – that's all, just talking. I promise."

Slowly, afraid for what he would see, Alex looked up. Instead of the anger and disappointment he was expecting, however, he was met with Danny's wide, concerned eyes, kneeling down at Alex's level, desperate to understand and to comfort. He swallowed, his throat dry.

"It was just – too much. I'm – I'm sorry."

"That's alright."

He was surprised to see that Danny was being genuine.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Danny only smiled, and somehow Alex knew it would be alright. He tentatively reached out a hand, which Danny took, stroking the back of Alex's knuckles with his thumb.

"How about I heat up some water? You could have a bath?" Danny said softly.

Nodding, Alex felt the tiniest smile grace his face, despite the way he was still shaking. "I would like that."

* * *

It struck Alex as odd, how comfortable he was with being naked around Danny. He'd never really been bothered by nudity – a side effect of boarding school – but he'd assumed that things would somehow be different with Danny. If anything, it was easier. There was nothing sexual about it, but there was an intimacy about it that Alex had never experienced before. Yes, he felt vulnerable, but he also felt incredibly safe.

 _If this is what physical intimacy is based on_ , he thought, _it might be alright after all._

"Had you guessed?" He asked. Something about the situation, Danny's presence, had persuaded him to be more open. That, and the knowledge that if he wanted this… _thing_ with Danny to go anywhere (and he really, really did), he would have to open up sooner rather than later. "That I'd… never been with anyone before? Never… nothing?"

"I'd guessed that you hadn't been with anyone before," Danny said, completely without judgement, from where he sat holding Alex's hand. "I thought that maybe you'd fooled around a bit, or dated women. Kissed."

He sounded more incredulous than anything else.

Alex turned his head slightly, the closest he ever got to a shrug. "The… opportunity never presented itself. I never knew the right person. At the right time. It hadn't really occurred to me that… that might be an option." He paused, taking a deep breath. Danny was just letting him speak; something, he realised, that people didn't usually do. "So I just decided to carry on. By myself."

He turned, resting his head on his arm, looking straight at Danny. "Do you think that men like us… can fall in love?"

"Of course!"

Alex hadn't expected Danny's answer to be so quick or so certain. "Did you always know that one day you would fall in love."

Danny looked as if he had never been more certain of anything in his life. "Yes."

As Alex looked at Danny, at those wide and trusting eyes that hid a lifetime of secrets, he realised that more than anything he wanted to be with him, in every way. He'd never met anyone like Danny before, and he was sure that the likelihood of meeting someone like him again was minimal. He trusted Danny in a way that he'd never trusted anyone before. Until now he'd only trusted his own intellect, his own reasoning, but Danny was different. At this moment, he was at a crossroads; he had to choose what was more important. Choosing Danny could potentially mean losing everything; his job, his position, his freedom. But what were those things compared to Danny? Would it be worth keeping those if he couldn't have Danny in his life.

His mind was made up.

"I want to try again."

 **I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment with your feedback :)**

 **Thank you for reading!**

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	2. 1940

**Needless to say, this fic ended up being a bit longer than originally planned, so now there will be four chapters rather than two. However, chapters 3 and 4 will be much shorter than 1 and 2 (famous last words) and I hope to have them all up ASAP.**

...

Being with Danny was unlike anything Alex had experienced or even dared dream of. He hadn't realised quite how lonely he'd been until now, how exhausting it was not having even a friend. Every moment that he was with Danny he couldn't help but bask in each moment, treasuring and keeping it for each day when he was sitting at his desk, the thought of Danny getting him through those long hours.

It would be an understatement to say that he'd lost interest in his work. It was slow, dull, and had no visible endpoint, which until recently would have appealed to him. The challenge presented by the numbers on the page, the ticking time-bomb of the war; all things that, a few months ago, he would have said were what made the job worth doing. It was hard to focus on solving an impossible cipher, though, when all he could think about was coming home to Danny.

There was caution in their relationship, of course; after all, the people Alex worked with were paid to find out things that they weren't supposed to know, and his landlady was often suspicious; any night spent in a bed that wasn't his own led to, at best, pursed lips and no breakfast, and at worst, a thorough interrogation and telling off about responsibility and virtue. He never told Danny these things, though, and never invited him round for more than a single drink – there was no need to worry him.

Alex cherished the times, few and far between though they were, when he was able to spend the night over at Danny's. He never wanted to leave Danny's arms, and nothing ruins the tender moments following intimacy like the harsh reality of having to sneak home before anyone suspects.

For a few glorious months they were able to spend every free moment together in Danny's room, getting to know each other in every way. They fell into a routine: their usual morning conversations outside the shop before work, Alex going straight to the shop after work just in time for Danny to close up, kissing him as soon as the door was locked behind the last customer, and not leaving until nightfall. It was as if they existed in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world. For those few hours each day that he spent with Danny, Alex was able to put everything else whirring round his mind to rest; the numbers, the puzzles, the ciphers.

Bubbles, however, don't last forever; sooner or later they burst. Their daily routine had gone as usual. Alex had gone for his morning run, greeting his usual acquaintances in his usual manner, before saying hello to Danny. He'd sat at his desk for eight hours, mindlessly moving numbers around while trying to work out if Danny would want to go walking with him at the weekend, before going straight to the shop when his shift was over, standing there awkwardly until Danny shut the door and he could greet him with a kiss.

As they parted, though, Alex saw something move behind Danny and jumped a mile, frantically looking to see what it was. It was the old shopkeeper.

"Alex," Danny started, his voice placating.

Alex turned to the stranger, his heart pounding. "We weren't - " he began to say, but he couldn't finish it. Try as he might, as terrified as he was, he was unable to deny that there was something between him and Danny.

"Alex, it's okay," Danny said, taking Alex's hand despite the way Alex was standing rigid, unmoving. "This is Scottie, he's my friend. He," He glanced towards the old man, "He's like us, Alex. It's okay."

Slowly, Alex turned to face Danny. He didn't need to say anything; Danny saw straight away everything that he'd wanted to ask, and simply nodded, smiling that glorious smile.

"You must be Alex." Scottie moved from where he was standing in the doorway. He moved, Alex thought, with a certainty that you didn't see very often; he not only knew exactly what he was doing, but also that he was completely correct to do so. Alex knew that in the few paces he'd taken across the room, Scottie had seen everything that he wanted to, that he needed to. He saw everything that there was to see straightaway. There was no use in hiding.

"Danny has told me all about you." Eyes piercing into his, Scottie turned to Alex. "He's completely besotted. But then, he's always been the romantic."

Danny blushed, ducking his head in embarrassment. "Scottie, stop it!"

Alex wanted to turn to him, tell him that he didn't mind, that he actually found it nice, but he couldn't; Scottie's gaze was still holding him in place.

"You're all he talks about in his letters nowadays - "

"You write about me?"

All three of them were shocked by Alex's interruption, bordering on accusation.

"Of course I do." Danny looked affronted. "Is that okay?"

Alex stood there for a few seconds, calculating his options. He could tell Danny that it wasn't safe, that there couldn't be any evidence, any trail, but that would involve telling him what he knew – or, at least, that there were random searches in all post that came through Bletchley in case any secrets were being leaked, that the contents of more than one intercepted letter from around the country had ended up on his desk, that there was no such thing as privacy anymore; not in war. But to tell Danny that would not only violate the secrecy that he himself had been sworn to; it would break his own personal rule, to keep Danny safe and protected. If that meant keeping him in the dark, even at the possible expense of their own freedom, then it was worth it.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

(After all, they were at war; there were more important things to worry about than who the local shopkeeper was sleeping with.)

"There's nothing wrong with it," he said eventually, his words as stilted and unnatural as always. "I was just worried."

"There's no need." Danny smiled at him again, still holding his hand, clearly trying to be comforting. He had the look on his face that usually meant that he was about to kiss Alex; Alex thought that had it not been for Scottie's presence, he probably would have.

He turned as Scottie slowly approached them.

"I'm sure Danny has told you a lot about me," Scottie said, with a reassurance that told Alex that he wasn't expecting to be contradicted on this. "He's been staying with me since he came to Bletchley, not much more than a child, and he hasn't had much luck with men since then."

"Scottie - " Danny's voice was warning, but Scottie ignored him.

"As such," Scottie brought himself up even taller, clearly trying to augment his importance over Alex, "It falls to me to tell you not to hurt him."

"I could never hurt him," Alex said with a certainty that surprised them all. Pausing for a moment, he considered his next words carefully. To tell the truth? Or to be honest? "He's my world."

He felt, rather than heard, Danny's sharp inhale as his grip on Alex's hand tightened.

Satisfied with the answer, Scottie gave a smile that, while clearly genuine, was deeply sad. "Well, in that case… I'm very happy for you both."

Lying in bed that evening, holding Danny close to him, Alex thought back to his meeting with Scottie; with everything he'd done, everything he'd said. It was clear that Danny saw him as a close friend, a father figure, but nothing more, and was seemingly oblivious to the older man's affections for him. At least it seemed that Scottie was not planning on acting on those feelings any time soon; Alex had to give him credit for that.

Much more than that, though, he couldn't help but wonder about what Scottie had implied about Danny's romantic (or, perhaps more accurately, sexual) history. While he was riled at Scottie talking about things that were personal to Danny and only to be shared at his discretion, his interest was inevitably piqued. He knew bits and pieces of Danny's past but it was obvious that there was a much bigger picture there that he was missing out on.

"What are you thinking about?"

He turned to face Danny, so close that their noses brushed together. "You." They kissed lightly. Alex had wondered, at the start, if each touch and kiss might lose its spark, and he'd been pleasantly and wonderfully surprised to find that that wasn't the case.

Clearing his throat, Danny spoke again. "I want to tell you… how I met Scottie."

Alex immediately sensed that this was something important; that there was a story here, something significant. "You don't have to tell me."

"I want to."

He slowly brushed Danny's hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears, giving an almost imperceptible nod. _I'm listening_.

"I'd just left home," Danny said, sounding distant. "I… I had a bit of a, of a bad reputation back in London. I drank a lot and smoked a lot, even when I was still a kid, really, and I was taking drugs. They're – they're a lot easier to come by in London."

Sensing that what was needed now was just for him to listen, Alex lay patiently, giving Danny the time and space he needed.

"I'd known… I think I'd always known, really, that I was different. You know, that I liked men. And I didn't, I didn't really hide it. Everyone sort of knew, even if no one said anything. Sometimes people propositioned me, and I… I never said no. I don't know if I could've. I don't really know if I wanted to."

He sniffed, clearly trying to hold back tears. Alex waited.

"Lots of the boys my age, or a bit older, on our street. They… sometimes, when a girl turned them down, they'd ask me. And I'd always go along with it, whatever it was, because, well, it was what I knew. It didn't mean anything, and I thought – shit, I was so young, I didn't realise how stupid I was being!"

Another silence.

"After a while… after a while, they turned on me. They couldn't turn me in, not without taking themselves down with me, so they came after me. I was going to, to one of their houses, and they were all there. Waiting for me. They all blamed me, see, blamed me for turning them, so they beat me up. That was that. They - " he held up his right hand. "See how it's crooked? See how it shakes? It was almost completely crushed. Someone's boot, I think. And my – my leg, I don't know what they did because I'd been knocked out by that point, but that's why I have a limp. It doesn't bother me, most of the time. Just sometimes. I'm sure you noticed; it's the sort of thing that you would notice.

"Scottie was visiting his sister at the time. He heard something going on, and stopped them, saved me. Brought me here, to Bletchley, and paid for me to be taken care of. I – I owe him my life."

As he finished speaking his eyes met Alex's. Those eyes, Alex thought, those eyes that held so much pain and yet so much hope at the same time; someone who had taken everything the world had thrown at him and just taken it in his stride.

Alex could only think of one thing to say. "I love you."

"I love you too," Danny replied through his tears and that ever brilliant smile.

* * *

"I can't bring myself to wish it hadn't happened," Danny said the following weekend as they strolled through the fields surrounding Bletchley. He didn't say it, but Alex knew he was talking about the attack in his past.

"Why?" Baffled, Alex turned to face him. "Because it's how you met Scottie?"

Danny only shrugged. "That," he said, kicking his feet idly against the grass, "and that I wouldn't have met you. I wouldn't be here, in Bletchley, when you were, and I would have been called up. Lucky for me, I struggle with anything faster than walking pace and can't fire a gun. Makes me useless on the battlefield."

"You can't know that."

"What, that I'd be useless on a battlefield? You've seen me stumble from holding a few boxes."

"No, that it was the reason for us meeting. After all, any number of other factors could have influenced that. Maybe I was called up to work somewhere different, or never had the opportunity to study mathematics at all. Maybe a different neighbour would have interrupted you, or something happened that made you stay at home last night. Maybe some tiny change in the order of events thirty years ago meant that for one of us, our parents never met, and we would never even exist."

The air between them changed suddenly, bristling, and for the first time since they met Alex truly got the sense that he'd said something wrong.

"So you don't think that we were meant to meet each other, then? You don't think that this was supposed to happen, that somehow we were meant for each other?"

"It was a coincidence, nothing more. Coincidences happen every second of every day. It's what you make of them that counts."

There was a long silence as they continued walking. It was a slower pace than Alex would usually prefer, but it was the pace that Danny set.

"Are you happy?" Danny asked eventually.

"Yes. Very."

Danny didn't seem convinced.

"I want to be with you, Danny. More than anything."

He couldn't think of the words to tell Danny quite how much he meant to him; how far he would go to protect Danny, how much Danny had changed his life, changed him.

"I'm sorry."

Danny turned to look at him, alarmed. "What for?"

"I'm sorry that I'm not able to be more honest with you. I want to tell you everything. I don't want any secrets."

Taking his hand, Danny smiled at him. "I understand, I really do. What you do, your work, it's important, and… and I don't mind that I don't really know what you do, because I know that each day you're working to keep us all safe. To keep me safe."

And Alex wished he'd been able to tell Danny that that's not what he meant.

They walked a short way further together, still hand in hand, each checking over their shoulders every other minute to check that they were alone, before Danny stumbled.

"I'm sorry," he said through gritted teeth as he pulled himself up, refusing help from Alex. "Damn leg."

* * *

Danny's words awoke something in Alex, reminded him of why he was doing the job he was doing. It was his job to try and keep people safe, to protect people, and – most importantly – that included Danny.

When he went to work the next Monday, it was with a new sense of purpose; for the first time in months the thought of Danny was a motivator, not a distraction. He worked furiously, his pencil flying across the page as numbers whizzed around his head. In every equation he was one step further towards an answer and being closer to answers put them closer to safety, to freedom. It was no coincidence, then, that within a few short hours he finally reached his first breakthrough since he'd come to work at the Park.

"I've worked part of it out," he announced one day to the incredulity of the others in his Hut. There was no need for modesty; they all knew the facts.

"You – you have?"

"Really, Alistair?"

"But we've been working on it for months, you've got somewhere?"

He turned to the others, calculations in hand, face assured but not proud. "Yes. I have."

In many ways he felt a fool; it had been almost too simple, the numbers fitting together in a way that he should have noticed weeks if not months ago, and it wasn't even as if this was the whole answer, but it was headway. This particular cipher may not have been cracked but the solution seemed a whole lot closer.

They didn't stop to celebrate, or at least not in a conventional sense; there was no opening of a champagne bottle or passing round of a plate of biscuits. Instead, the progress was reported back to the office, and they kept working. But that was how they celebrated, Alex thought; one of them made a breakthrough, and the rest of them built on it. There really was no higher honour.

(Except, perhaps, the knowledge that perhaps he was keeping Danny safe.)

From then on, Alex's work was transformed. He had a newfound purpose in what he did, and as a result his productivity escalated. Although he and the others in his Hut were never told directly the effect their work was having on the war effort, but it never took long for word to be passed down that the influence of their work was being felt.

It almost made up for his time with Danny getting shorter and shorter. Even though Scottie was, as Danny put it, like them, it was much harder to spend time together now that he was back. He always seemed to be around, either finding other things to occupy them with or making enough noise round the flat while they were in Danny's room that they didn't really feel alone. Then again, it wasn't like they could spend time in Alex's lodgings, so it would have to do for now.

It was getting harder and harder to spend time together; while Alex was glad his work was finally getting somewhere, he knew that it was also gathering him attention which only fuelled his paranoia. He usually managed to avoid questions about who he was taking to the next social function, and he always tried his best to distance himself from his colleagues whenever they weren't working to avoid any unwanted questions about his personal life, but there was only so much he could do. They all knew about his friendship with Danny, of course – a town this small, there was no one who didn't know – but he suspected that a few of them at least knew the exact nature of their relationship. He dreaded the inevitable day that someone asked him, that someone brought it up, because despite everything, he wasn't sure that he would be able to deny his and Danny's relationship outright.

They'd taken to going on more walks together in lieu of spending time in Danny's flat, usually going quite a way outside the town in order to avoid prying eyes, but that in itself was presenting problems. For them to get far away enough to really feel alone they had to walk quite far, neither of them having a bike or car, and it didn't take many trips for Alex to realise the influence it was having on Danny's health. The first couple of times they went out Danny spent the evening resting, but it was progressively getting worse. After Danny's leg gave out a couple of miles out of town one day and Alex had had to almost carry him back, he'd been forced to admit that he wasn't up to the walks.

Weeks passed, months passed, and life went on in Bletchley as normal – or, as normal as it ever could. Despite all the progress being made at the Park, all the new machines being built, the end of the war seemed no closer. Danny went for another health check, and was once again declared unfit for action, to Alex's great relief. Before they knew it summer was just around the corner, Scottie was once again planning on visiting family, and the mood at Bletchley was slowly relaxing. While Alex was counting down the days to when he and Danny would finally be able to be as loud as they wished in Danny's room (not that they were ever particularly loud), the various students, professors and workers at the Park were spending every free moment basking on the lawn, discussing philosophy or art or literature or anything that wasn't the war and the work they did. Wherever he walked Alex saw games of tennis, pitchers of lemonade and chess matches, in a twisted parody of student life. Bored Wrens organised concerts, plays, operas, rehearsing during their lunch breaks on the rugby pitch. It seemed a painful contrast; the hordes of young people outside, enjoying the summer and the freedom against a backdrop of stuffy tin huts; a harsh reminder of the reason why they were there, and the work that they had to get back to.

"There is a band playing on the cricket pitch," Alex said one evening as he and Danny were curled up together on Danny's bed. "On Saturday evening. Everyone who works up at the house is invited, and – and we're allowed to bring other people. If we want. I think some other soldiers are going, as well. But I thought that maybe you might like to go."

Eyes wide, Danny replied, "With you?"

"Yes."

"But we can't, Alex, you know that."

"I know, but we could be friends. Everyone knows you're my friend, and I don't think it would be odd. James – his desk is across from mine – he's bringing his brother. And Molly – she brings me my messages – is bringing her landlord's son, but not as a date. I'm sure they're not the only ones."

He turned to look at Danny to see him smiling up at him. "What? What is it?"

"It's nothing," Danny said, tracing patterns on Alex's chest. "It's just – it's the first time you've ever said anything about your work. It's nice. Hearing you talk about it." He sat up slightly so he could see Alex better. "I would love to go with you. As your friend. And _we_ ," he leant forwards and kissed Alex chastely, "will know the truth."

* * *

Danny's day at the shop that Saturday had been unusually busy, so by the time they got to the cricket field he was already struggling with his leg.

"I don't mind," he said, his face clearly saying that he did. "It gives me an excuse to turn down dances from anyone who isn't you."

So they sat together at the back, Danny working his way swiftly through a packet of cigarettes, sometimes asking Alex to light them for him when his hand caused him pain. Alex would never tell Danny, but he liked his dependency sometimes; especially moments like this one, when it was the only way they could publically express their relationship.

They couldn't sit at the back by themselves forever, though. After a while, a couple of the others from Alex's hut arrived, smiling and shaking Danny's hand as Alex introduced them. They talked for a while, but Alex had never been brilliant at holding a conversation and they had very little in common with Danny, so it soon descended into an awkward quiet before they made their excuses.

"Do you reckon they know?" Danny asked as they watched the others leave.

Alex twitched one shoulder in an imitation of a shrug. "I don't think so. Maybe they suspect. They haven't said anything."

Danny gently nudged Alex's foot with his, just enough that, to the casual observer, it could seem accidental. "I love you."

"And I love you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw someone else approaching them; it was Molly.

"Hello, Alistair," she said jovially as she approached them. "And you must be Danny, Alistair's _friend_?"

As she shook Danny's hand, Alex couldn't help but notice something about the way she'd said 'friend'; as if she didn't quite believe it, but wasn't going to pry.

"That's me," Danny said, smiling as always. If he found it odd that all of Alex's colleagues called him Alistair, he didn't say anything; he clearly thought it best that they didn't suspect that there was anything particular about their friendship.

Molly turned to him. "Are you up for a dance, Alistair?" she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"I should stay with - " he started, before Danny interrupted.

"Go on, go and dance! Don't let me keep you all evening. I've got a drink, I'll be fine. Go and have fun."

Glancing back at Danny, Alex let himself be dragged over to the centre of the field where people were dancing.

"So," Molly started as soon as they were facing each other, determinedly putting Alex's hands on her waist. "You and Danny?"

Alex cleared his throat, awkwardly swaying to the music. "He's a very good friend of mine."

To his surprise, she laughed. "Very good friend, you can say that again! Go on, Alistair. You can tell me."

"There's nothing to tell." He stiffened as he said it, hating his own tells.

"Well, that's a load of rubbish if I ever heard one," she said. "Look, I… I won't force you to say it, not if you don't want me to. And I won't say anything to anyone else. But… well, my brother's got a friend who's in a similar situation, so I understand, and god knows you're not the only ones here. I wonder about my own roommates sometimes!" She sighed, getting her thoughts together. "What I mean to say is… I'm happy for you. The others won't have noticed, being men and all, but you've been much happier since he came into your life, and don't try to deny it. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm all ears."

Alex couldn't think of anything to say to that. "Thank you."

She smiled, clearly satisfied. "You're welcome. Now, you go back to your beau – I quite fancy my chances with one of those Americans over there!"

As she darted over to a group of American soldiers talking a group of other Wrens, Alex turned to go back to Danny, when he saw, next to the bar, a stall selling the band's records.

"What have you got there?" Danny asked as Alex approached him, nodding towards the bag in Alex's hand.

"It's nothing," he said.

"How was it, dancing?"

"I missed you."

Danny looked at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Alex said, his voice firmer than he had expected it to be. "Would you like to go, now? To my lodgings?"

"Won't your landlady notice?" Danny asked, worried.

Alex pointed towards the refreshments stand. "I doubt it. She'd over there."

* * *

"So this is your room," Danny said, trailing his finger over the spines of the books on the shelf. "It's…"

"What?"

Danny shrugged. "It's lonely."

After a beat of silence, Alex said, "I'm not here very often." He opened a box on the table in the corner. "I invited you here because I have a gramophone, and you don't."

Danny turned, confused, as Alex slid a record out of its sleeve and set it on the record player. Realisation dawned on his face as the soft horn sounds of the band they'd just seen filled the room.

Alex reached out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

It was an awkward, stumbling dance; Alex was graceful in many ways but moving to music was not one of them, and Danny's leg meant he struggled to keep his balance, but none of that mattered. Danny had enough rhythm for both of them and Alex was able to hold him as they danced. It was worth those few shillings, Alex thought, for the look on Danny's face as he danced with his sweetheart. He hadn't really got the hand of romantic gestures in the way that Danny had, but he couldn't help but feel that this time he'd got it completely right.

"I love you."

Danny smiled, and Alex felt that his heart might burst. "I love you too."

* * *

Like every other British summer, this one lasted no more than a few weeks before the rain and drizzle set in, and before they knew it Autumn was upon them. There was a never-ending list of things to do at the Park, and increased staff meant that Danny was busier than ever at the shop, even splitting the workload with Scottie.

They were beginning to get more comfortable going out in public together; physical contact was always kept to a minimum, and if anyone suspected then they didn't say anything. There was the occasional raised eyebrow, but never from anyone that Alex didn't trust with the knowledge, and he made sure to never confirm anything. It soon reached the point that more questions were asked if one of them attended an event without the other.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" Danny asked as they watched the fireworks above the bonfire in November.

"Staying here," Alex replied, taking advantage of the dark and everyone else being distracted by the fireworks to hold Danny's hand, pretending for a few moments that they were like any other couple. "I'm going to London over the New Year, though."

"Scottie's away for Christmas," Danny said. "It could just be the two of us?"

Squeezing Danny's hand before releasing it, Alex just said, "That would be nice."

It didn't work out like that, of course. Alex's landlady had pursed her lips at the suggestion that he might be spending with Danny – who she clearly disapproved of – and eventually they negotiated down to him staying for lunch and Danny coming round in the evening. She'd also pointed out that he could see Danny at church, either at midnight or in the morning, in a way that made it very clear that she thought going to church would do them both a world of good.

* * *

"Merry Christmas!"

Alex couldn't help but smile at the sight of Danny, wrapped up in a brand new scarf, shivering on the doorstep with a parcel in his hand.

"Merry Christmas," Alex replied, stepping aside to let Danny in and shutting the door behind him. "Mrs Hammond has just gone to take some pudding to her niece. I think she'll be gone for at least half an hour." Explanation over, he leant forwards and kissed Danny lightly. "Merry Christmas," he said once again, this time whispered against Danny's lips.

He led Danny to the front room where a fire was blazing, one gift under the tree in the corner. "That is for you."

They sat together on the sofa in front of the fire, Alex's arm around Danny, each with their presents to each other.

"You first," Danny said, pressing a kiss to Alex's cheek.

He carefully untied the string, the wrapping falling away to reveal a dark blue jumper. It was beautifully soft and Alex knew that it would be wonderfully warm.

"I thought you could wear it while you're in London next week," Danny said. "And then you can think of me."

"I will. I love it; thank you."

"Okay, now it's my turn!" Alex couldn't help but smile as Danny's face lit up like a child's, tearing the paper away, opening the box inside.

He froze as he saw what was inside.

"Alex," he choked out, "This is too much, I can't accept this - " He lifted the wristwatch out of its box, running his fingers over it almost reverently.

"Of course you can," Alex whispered. "Turn it over."

Hand shaking, Danny turned the watch over to read the engraving on the back.

 _Danny_

 _For you, the one I love_

 _A_

"I love it," Danny sniffed. He turned his head to face Alex. "I love you."

They kissed and it was if it was the first time they kissed, full of excitement and potential and love.

"You're the only one, Danny," Alex said as they parted. "It will only ever be you."


	3. 1941

The London office had been as dull as Alex had expected, and he wouldn't have minded it except it brought him away from Danny. The war didn't stop for Christmas, so neither did the work on government communications. The only reprieve had been on New Year's Day, when a telegram had arrived on his desk reading, HAPPY NEW YEAR STOP. DANNY.

He stayed in London for a week, filling in for someone on leave, before returning to Bletchley on the Wednesday morning train.

It was a relatively short train journey, and he spent it thinking about what he would do when he got back; he would have the rest of the day off, so he would be able to go home, unpack and change, and then go and see Danny. Maybe he would be able to persuade him to shut the shop early or leave it to Scottie for a few hours, sneak off somewhere for some time alone. He smiled just at the thought, ignoring the book in his lap in favour of gazing out the window and counting down the minutes to when he could see Danny.

As the train pulled into Bletchley he grabbed his suitcase, making sure that he was the first one at the carriage door, ready to pull it open as soon as the train pulled to a halt. He was so focussed on the thought of getting home as quickly as he could that it took him a few moments to realise that someone was calling his name.

"Mr Turner? Mr Turner!"

He turned round to see a Wren that he didn't recognise running towards him, waving for him to stop.

"Hello?" he asked, confused.

"Mr Turner," she said once she'd caught up with him, "You're needed at the mansion, right away. The Major needs to see you."

He nodded his understanding, not being given much choice in the matter, grateful that he'd planned on surprising Danny and so hadn't given him an arrival estimate.

"My I take your case?" the Wren offered, but he shook his head.

"No, thank you."

They made the short walk to the Park in an uncomfortable silence. Alex couldn't think what it might be that the Major wanted to see him about; he wasn't important enough to be singled out for anything good. As long as it kept him at the Park, that was all that mattered; he didn't think he could stand having to be away from Danny.

He'd only been in the Major's office once before, and that was when he'd first arrived and was called in to sign the Official Secrets Act and be briefed; indeed, the only other times he'd been in the mansion at all were when there were events on in the old ballroom. The building had a very different atmosphere during office hours, however. Gone was the laughter and the celebration and the music, replaced with a harsh quiet and sombre mood.

Given the hasty manner with which he'd been summoned, he found it very odd indeed that, instead of being taken to see the Major right away, he was sitting in the foyer for almost an hour.

 _This can't be good_ , he thought. After all, the only reason he would be treated this way was if they were trying to scare him, and he wished he could say that they weren't succeeding.

After what felt like days, he was finally called from within the office. "Come in, Mr Turner."

He slipped into the grand office, suitcase still in hand.

"Shut the door behind you," the Major said from behind his desk, not looking up from the papers he was signing. "Take a seat."

A further ten minutes passed as Alex sat there, strategically placed so he could not see any papers that might be out of their folders on the Major's desk.

Eventually, the Major put down his pen, shut the final folder, and faced Alex, his hands clasped on his desk.

"Do you know why I've asked you here, Mr Turner?" he said from behind his spectacles.

Alex had an awful feeling that he was being tested, but he wasn't sure what on. "No."

"Some rather serious allegations have been made against you, Mr Turner," the Major went on, making a show of indicating the top file on his desk. Alex didn't have to look to know that it would have his name on it. "I don't suppose you have any idea what sort of allegations these might be?"

He had an awful, horrible idea that he did know; but again, he simply said, "No, Sir."

"Then let me ask you another question. Do you know…" he opened the file under Alex's. "Do you know Daniel Edward Holt?"

Alex felt his blood run cold.

"Yes; he works in the corner shop. He is a – a dear friend."

"A _very_ dear friend, it would seem," the Major said, more to himself than to Alex. "He has been sent to the front."

"No!" Alex shouted, standing up so quickly that his chair fell over. Danny couldn't be gone, he couldn't be fighting, it wasn't safe, he wouldn't be able to, Alex would never see him again, he'd be in pain and alone.

The Major raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Face reddening, Alex picked his chair back up and sat down. "I mean… Sir, that can't be correct. Danny – I mean, Mr Holt – is not physically able to fight. He's had multiple medical examinations, he has a bad hand and a bad leg, he can't walk very far, they declared him unfit for service. There must have - " he could feel himself grasping at straws. " - there must have been a mistake."

"I assure you, there has been no mistake. Mr Holt has been sent to fight."

"But there must be something you can do, please!" Alex begged, his head spinning. "He'll be killed or injured or taken prisoner, and he – he won't be able to keep up, he'll be a hindrance to the others! _Please_!"

"There is something you can do," the Major started.

"Anything!"

The Major held up a hand, silencing Alex. "I will order Mr Holt's return, on one condition."

"What is it? I'll do anything!"

"You swear to me, right now, that the two of you have never had sexual relations."

Alex could swear he felt his heart stop. "What?"

The Major opened his mouth to speak; he had to say something, right now. "I – I'm sure I – I don't know what you mean."

"You'll have to be more convincing than that I'm afraid," the Major sighed.

There was no point in asking him how he knew; this whole place was set up so they could learn people's secrets.

The Major continued to speak. "We've known for a long time now; almost a year. I applaud you for managing to keep it a secret for the months that you did."

"Then, why - "

"Why not do anything about it? We're in a war, Mr Turner; there are more important things to worry about, and you're more useful to us here than in prison. Tell me, Mr Turner; what is it that keeps you working? You are free to answer completely honestly; your answer will have no repercussions for either you or Mr Holt."

"Danny," Alex said instantly, blushing slightly as he realised how quickly he'd spoken. "I – I mean, it is the thought of Danny that keeps me working, Sir. Keeping him safe." And he'd managed to do the opposite.

"I thought as much. You see, Mr Turner, we have to work out what it is that makes you all tick. Obviously many of the people here didn't have an enormous amount of choice, but no one does their best work when working against their will. For many people, it's their patriotism, their pride in their king and their country that makes them want to keep working. For many others, it's knowing that they're doing something worthwhile in the war effort, of feeling like they're a part of something bigger than themselves. For some, though, it's simply the puzzle, the challenge. They see the numbers ahead of them and know that they will stop at nothing until the puzzle is solved.

"When you first arrived here, Mr Turner, it was clear that you fell into that last category. You craved the challenge; your mind whirred at a mile a minute, and you simply worked from one problem to the next. After a while, your work started to dip – don't think we didn't notice – and I wondered if maybe the puzzle wasn't enough for you. Then, suddenly, it was as if a switch was flipped; overnight you became one of the most prolific workers in your department, and every major breakthrough from your Hut had your name on it. That was when we worked out that something was going on, and it didn't take much investigation to lead us to Mr Holt.

"But, he motivated you. It was clear that your reason, now, for doing the best work that you could, was for Mr Holt. So, we allowed the relationship to continue – not unmonitored – for the purposes of keeping you working. And it worked."

Alex sat in his seat, frozen. He couldn't believe he was hearing this; they… knew? All along? He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed. That they'd kept tabs on him to this extent… How much did they know? How many private conversations had they heard, how many intimate moments had been intruded upon?

And when did they become the enemy?

"Why now?" he breathed, dreading the answer. "You said that Danny was the reason for my work, and you're right. So why now? Why is he being taken away?"

"People are starting to notice," the Major said, leaning back in his chair. "Civilians. People in the village. A complaint was made to the police, and although I'm afraid I can't tell you who by, investigations did not turn out in your favour. Many people may be willing to keep gossip to themselves, but when the police come round asking if they know anything? That's a different matter."

"But we were so careful," Alex whispered, the words feeling hollow and empty.

"Not careful enough. The police wanted to make two arrests, so we intervened. They couldn't deny us, and it was a more than satisfactory bargain; you would remain free, on condition that you would be closely monitored, and Mr Holt would be forced to leave Bletchley. All charges against you would then be dropped."

Alex was fuming, his breaths short and heavy. "So… so you just… bought my freedom? You, you just sent Danny off, so that what, you could keep my _brain_?! So I could carry on reeling out answers? You – you sent Danny, who has never so much as hurt a fly in his _entire life_ be sent off to his _death_ so I could – so I could - "

"Mr Holt has had a troubled past," the Major said, clearly attempting to placate him. "I'm sure he's much tougher than you think."

"Send me instead."

The Major looked thrown by this; he'd clearly not been expecting it. "What do you - "

"You know what I mean. Send me instead of him. What's keeping me here, now? Did you think he meant that little to me that you could send him away and I'd just _carry on_?!"

"Mr Turner, I - "

"Did you hear me? TAKE ME INSTEAD!" He leapt up, throwing anything he could reach off the desk in a single sweep, tears blurring his vision. "TAKE ME! NOT HIM, DON'T YOU DARE HURT HIM!"

"MR TURNER!" The major roared, standing up as well.

Stunned, Alex stood in silence, looking down at the mess he'd made of the office in disbelief.

"If you've _quite_ finished, Mr Turner?"

Alex swung his head round to look at the Major, his eyes wide.

"For now," the Major said, his voice shaking dangerously, "Mr Holt is relatively safe. He has been placed in an ambulance squad; he will not fight. His job is to collect the wounded, not to engage in battle. However, all it takes is one telegram from me and he's on the front line. Do I make myself clear?"

Alex nodded slowly, his position all too clear.

"Then let that be your motivation from now on, Mr Turner. Do not step out of line again. Do not attempt to make contact with Mr Holt. And do not let your work slip. Now." The Major sat back down again, ignoring the mess of his office. "You are dismissed. You may go back to your lodgings and unpack; I'm sure you've had a long day. I expect you here at eight a. m. sharp tomorrow morning, and I expect your best work."

"Yes, Sir." The words were unfeeling and cold; a dead weight.

"Very good. Off you go, Mr Turner."

Alex walked out of the Major's office in a daze. His limbs had turned to lead, the world passing by in a blur; Danny was…

Danny was gone, and it was all his fault.

He walked home, not missing the way Scottie locked the shop up as he saw him at the end of the street, or the way his landlady pursed her lips and glared as he trudged upstairs.

As he went into his room, he dropped the suitcase by the door and went straight to the chest of drawers. Breathing a sigh of relief as he saw that everything was exactly as he'd left it, he pulled out one of Danny's jumpers that he'd borrowed and never returned. Pulling off the one he was wearing, the one Danny had bought him for Christmas, he tugged Danny's on. It didn't quite fit him or suit him, but that didn't matter. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that Danny was there with his arms around him; that they were both safe, and together.

Thick, hot tears splashed from his cheeks onto the jumper, and before long he was sobbing, loud and messy, not caring who heard or what they thought. He curled up on his bed, crying until there were no tears left and then crying some more, dreading what the next day would bring.

"Danny," he whispered to the empty room, "Danny, I love you. I love you, Danny, be safe. I need you to be safe."


	4. After

**1945**

Alex Turner had assumed for the last four years that when the war was finally over, he would be relieved, happy. Instead, he just felt… empty.

All that had kept him going over the last four years was the knowledge that the only thing keeping Danny safe, keeping Danny alive, was him. As long as he did as he was told, continued to work and to be useful, Danny would be safe. It was that thought – the thought that he woke up with every morning and went to sleep with every night – that kept him going. But now?

Danny would be coming home, and he was glad of that, of course he was, but he was a fool if he thought he'd be allowed to see him. He and Danny would both now be expected to get on with their lives – their separate lives, apart from each other.

There were celebrations all over the Park, of course; bottles of champagne being opened in every room, a constant background of singing and parties. And it was a victory worth celebrating; not only had their work paid off, but it was all the sweeter for knowing the exact nature of their enemy. For years they'd been intercepting messages filled with body counts and orders to kill, but no more. They had _won_.

There was still much to be done; the Park would still be running for at least a few months, if not years, Alex knew that. Just because peace had been declared didn't mean that there wouldn't be unrest and fighting, and wars were still being fought across the world. Their work was far from done here.

Three days passed – three more days than Alex had predicted – before he was, once again, summoned to see the Major. He'd seen him a few times in the last few years, mostly for reassurances that Danny was alive and well. The Major was happy to provide them, as long as Alex's work continued at the standard that it had been.

"So the war is over, Mr Turner."

"Yes, Sir."

"Mr Holt will be coming home soon."

Alex paused before replying. "Yes, Sir."

"I'm sure you understand," the Major said, not unkindly, "that you will not be able to see him?"

"I understand."

"And that, because of this, you will no longer be able to remain in Bletchley?"

"I understand, Sir."

"Good. Your train leaves for Oxford at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I've already spoken to one of the Professors; they're willing and able to give you a research and lecturing post. You will have accommodation and you will be paid."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I didn't explain the exact nature of your situation; you will have a fresh start. But, I repeat, you must not contact Mr Holt."

"I understand."

There was a long silence; after all, there wasn't much to say.

"I'm sorry about this dreadful business, Mr Turner," the Major said eventually. "It seems that your time working for the government has come to an end."

* * *

If only communication between the different departments of the British Armed Forces was better. If only those deployed at Bletchley Park had known that a few soldiers had been sent home straight away, that those who weren't on the front lines were packed onto the next train and sent straight home.

If only someone had told Alistair Turner, as he took one last look at the small town of Bletchley before his train departed. If only he'd known, and he could have made sure that he had a last-minute dash, not arrived early (as always), sitting in the carriage, desperately clinging on to the memory of Danny Holt before it all felt like a dream.

If only he'd sat in a different seat, then he wouldn't even have known.

If only one train hadn't pulled up at the opposite platform just as the other left, a group of tired young men piling off, beaming despite themselves, one pushing through the crowds to try and find the man he hoped beyond hope would be waiting.

If only he hadn't seen him. Separated by a sheet of glass, suddenly realising that he was on a moving train that was leaving and he wanted to get off right now because he had to see him, he had to see him one last time and say goodbye but -

But it was too late. Face pressed against the glass, he didn't tear his eyes away from Danny's until he was just a speck in the distance, tears rolling down his cheeks like they hadn't in years, his heart aching.

* * *

 **1952**

Working at Oxford had worked well for Alex. He didn't really have to look after himself, and he had plenty of time to focus on his research. Before long he'd begun publishing papers and theories; nothing too outlandish or controversial, but new enough. He'd finished the PhD that he'd begun before the war, started lecturing. It suited him.

Except for the loneliness.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn't feel affected by it. After all, he'd been alone practically all his life before he'd met – before he'd gone to Bletchley. But now that he knew what it felt like not to be alone, to have someone to share even a tiny part of your life with? It wasn't easy to adjust back.

He hadn't really kept in contact with many people from Bletchley. He got Christmas cards and the occasional postcard, but the only person he really heard from was Molly. She stayed in Bletchley and married after the war, started a family, even named Alex godfather to her son, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend. He'd gathered, from what she'd told him, that most of the others who had worked with them had stayed in government communications, moving to the new headquarters a few years after the war. Molly never asked why he hadn't gone with them; she hadn't had to.

Alex always looked forward to his weekly letter from Molly. It didn't usually contain particularly exciting news; usually just updates as to how the children were getting on, or her local gossip, but it was nice to be in touch with the outside world. College life could easily become stifling, and rambling pages about how little George had taken to throwing his vegetables about were a breath of fresh air.

He settled down one weekend in his small sitting room, cup of tea brewed, Molly's latest letter in his hand. He smiled slightly to himself as he read it, easily able to imagine his godson's latest painting disaster. Still imagining the look on Molly's face, he reached the final page.

 _And finally, I don't know if you've heard about this awful business with Mr Turing? I'm sure you remember him. He was arrested a few weeks ago – I heard it from Jimmy. It was for gross indecency, which if you ask me is outrageous, it's 1952! Anyway, he pleaded guilty, and now apparently has to take these horrible pills that are supposed to 'cure' him, and he's been fired for it. It's so, so terrible; but I thought you might like to know._

 _I hope you are well, and that your students are behaving themselves! (Your godson certainly isn't!)_

 _Your dear friend,_

 _Molly_

It took Alex a few seconds to realise that he'd dropped his cup of tea on the floor. Mr Turing? Arrested? Sentenced? He knew that it happened – after all, he'd come close to it himself – but to someone he knew, someone he'd worked with? It hit too close to home for his liking; far too close.

Carefully avoiding the spilt tea, he made his way to the bookshelf, pulling out his copy of _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_. It fell open to page 44, where a folded photograph had been tucked between the pages. Delicately, as if handling a fine sheet of glass, Alex took it out and unfolded it.

There was a message on the back, which he'd read a thousand times. _He misses you. He gave me this. Molly 05/02/46_. He turned it over.

And there was Danny, in his uniform, looking at the camera with trepidation, his hair cut short and slicked back. But it was _Danny_. And it was the only picture Alex had.

Molly had done her best to keep them in touch after the war, but had only managed to keep them each informed that the other one was fine. Alex wanted to pass a message on, he so, desperately did, but the thought of the possible consequences – brought to the forefront of his mind by the news of Mr Turing – stopped him. He knew that Danny was alive and well, had in all likelihood been given the same threat that Alex had, and for the sake of keeping things that way Alex would keep his distance.

Slipping the photograph back into the book, he brushed against the sleeves of his navy blue jumper ever so slightly. It was worn now, with holes and patches where it was starting to unravel, but no one could say it wasn't well loved.

* * *

 **1954**

Alex had done everything he could to put Mr Turing's case from his mind; it only filled him with worry, and there was nothing he could do to help or change anything. Molly never said anything more in her letters, so he chose to assume that everything was fine. He did wonder, though, if she knew that he worried about Danny more these days; she sent reassurances with her letters much more regularly now.

In the end, though, he didn't need a letter from Molly to tell him the news. It was in the obituary section of the newspaper.

 _Mr A. M. Turing, 23/06/1912 – 07/06/1954_

 _A loyal friend and a brilliant mind. He will be missed._

It seemed sad, Alex thought, that they whoever had written this had only been able to afford eleven words. Even though he'd never worked with Turing directly, he was well-known throughout the Park for both his achievements and his eccentricities.

But then, they'd never be allowed to write about that.

A few months ago, he'd gone for lunch with Molly when he blurted out,

"Tell Danny I love him."

She'd smiled. "I will."

* * *

 **1967**

The inhabitants of University College, Oxford, fell silent over breakfast one morning when a tremendous crash came from the head table in the dining hall.

"I'm sorry," mumbled one of the Mathematics tutors as he hastily tried to clear up his spilt cornflakes, and the steady hum of noise slowly rose once more.

Only those sitting either side of Dr Turner had noticed that the crash had come as he'd seen the headline of the morning paper.

 _HOMOSEXUALITY LEGALISED_

* * *

The Dean of the college had been surprisingly sympathetic when Alex had requested the day off for personal reasons. Then again, he hadn't taken a single holiday since he started working there over twenty years ago; he deserved a few days to himself.

Never before had Alex been so glad that he'd kept up his running in his forties as he darted through the streets of Oxford to the train station, leaping onto the next train to Bletchley. He briefly wondered if Danny had seen the papers, but of course he would have; he worked in a shop, he would have seen them before the sun had risen.

The train journey from Oxford to Bletchley had never felt so long, despite how much faster trains had become since the war, and Alex couldn't get off it fast enough. He pushed past everyone on the platform, throwing his ticket at the inspector on his way out of the station, sprinting through the streets that he knew so well.

There it was. The shop. There was no one in there, only a dark-haired man approaching (or in) middle-age.

Danny.

As the bell went on the door, Alex stood, frozen, not daring to believe it, terrified to go a step forwards in case it was all a wonderful dream that was too good to be true. The man behind the counter turned to greet the new customer, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw who it was.

There were those eyes. Those beautiful, big blue eyes that Alex had fallen in love with almost thirty years ago, centuries older and sadder than when he'd last seen them, but he saw the moment that a tiny flicker became a bright spark and the man smiled, that beautiful smile that could light up a city, and it was clear that he was out of practice and perhaps hadn't smiled like that in years but it didn't matter because he was smiling _now_.

"Alex?" Danny breathed, disbelieving. "Is it – is it really you?"

"Yes." He'd never been so grateful for the way he was never quite able to say the words in the right way, in the right pattern, because with that one syllable Danny ran around from the counter and straight towards him and _kissed him_ and he was home.

Danny. Danny was back with him, they were together once more, and he still smelt like Danny and felt like Danny even though they were both much older, but they kissed like it was their first kiss – and, in a way, it was. They didn't have to care who wandered past the shop window, or who saw them, or what anyone thought. It was just the two of them. The rest of the world didn't matter.

"I love you," Alex said when they eventually parted, unable to keep himself away from Danny, holding him close. "I have always loved you."

"I love you too," Danny kissed him again. "I thought of you every minute of every day that we were apart, but it – it's over, you're here, I can't believe you're here!"

And within a matter of moments they were both crying, holding onto each other as if it was the only thing keeping them alive, as if letting go would mean losing them forever all over again.

"Stay, Alex," Danny said, brushing Alex's hair out of his eyes. "Stay with me."

Alex kissed him again, revelling in every moment of it. "I always will."

 _FIN_

 **Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) Please leave a review with some feedback! It's always appreciated.**

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